One Person Can Change Everything - Part 2

Sometimes when you least expect it, a person will come along and change everything.

I first started therapy in December with someone at an organization that was recommended to me.  It was nothing short of a disaster.  I should have run for the hills as soon as I stepped into her office and saw the couch.  The dreaded therapy couch with the obligatory box of tissues on the little table next to it.  Except this couch looked like it might have been rescued from an apartment dumpster at some point... Now, I'm not suggesting that you can judge the quality of a therapist by the quality of their couch, but honestly, if your couch has mystery stains, you might consider at least throwing something over it...because mystery stains are gross, especially on a couch that may or may not have been rescued from an apartment dumpster.

And when I say that therapy back then was a disaster, what I mean is that I was struggling eyeballs deep with depression on top of a bunch of undiagnosed medical "stuff"  and therapy was just making day to day life even harder.  I resisted therapy for a long time because, you know, that's for people with problems, and heaven forbid I admit I have any of those.  Depression and suicidal thoughts are normal right?  But eventually I gave in because really, what's the worst that could happen?  When my therapist came out to bring me back to her office wearing a sweater vest adorned with an eclectic assortment of cats, I began to have some concerns that maybe, just maybe, this wouldn't end as well as I had hoped.  Nothing against people who wear cat sweater vests, really, but I typically find people who have those kinds of gems in their wardrobe arsenal to be not-quite-relatable.  I would soon find out that this would be no exception.

Now, I'm sure this therapist is a great therapist for some people.  People who love cats, for instance...or people who have a love for identifying mystery stains.  But every session with her was a struggle.  There were times I felt like I was talking to a toddler that was sitting there with her hands over her ears saying, "I'm not listening, I'm not listening" at the top of her lungs because as straight forward as I was with her about why I was there, she didn't appear to be having any of it.  She would manufacture her own reasons.  When I tried to steer the conversation back to what I was actually there for, she'd take the nearest detour...again.

So after a few months, I broke up with her.  I pulled the slick, "I'll call you" line and then just left her hanging - because I'm terrified of confrontations like that and had no desire to have a conversation about why I was giving up on sessions with her.  It wasn't my most mature moment - I can definitely admit that.  And I didn't know any better, so I just thought that's what therapy was like.  My few months with that therapist left me drained and far more defeated and hopeless than when I first went to see her.  I won't get into the details, but it was pretty ugly.  I didn't want to put myself through trying to find anyone else because I was afraid it would be more of the same.  I was afraid that seeing someone else that would just do the same thing would make me even more defeated and hopeless - and that was something I absolutely couldn't afford.

I was afraid to look for another therapist.  I was afraid that it would land me in an even worse place if it didn't work out.  I really just wanted to say "Screw it!" and forget about the whole thing.  I tried, right?  I could say I gave it a shot.  But somehow - and I have no idea how - I found the strength to call.  And it was the best decision I've ever made.  Seriously.

I remember the first time I walked into the office.  Scared, nervous, but trying to be hopeful.  Terrified that it would be a repeat of my first experience.  When my new therapist came out to take me back to her office, I was relieved that she was not dressed like a 60 year-old kindergarten teacher that's obsessed with cats.  And apparently someone got the memo about the mystery stains as the couch was covered up nicely.  Were there mystery stains underneath?  Was this couch rescued form an apartment dumpster?  I'll never know - thank God for that.  And none of the harsh fluorescent lighting.  That probably sounds stupid but honestly, the ambiance of the room makes more difference than you'd think.  It's hard to feel free to be open and honest if you're in a space that seems more like the principal's office than a comfortable, safe place.

For some reason, I was immediately more comfortable.  More comfortable with the whole office, more comfortable with the therapist - more comfortable with everything.  This therapist heard me.  But more importantly, she listened.  Unlike my first therapist, this one took time to talk to me about what my goals were with therapy and set up a treatment plan.  She took time to discussion expectations - hers and mine.  And while that may seem like a small thing - and it probably is in the grand scheme of things - it was nice to know we were on the same page from the start.

But most importantly, I felt safe.  As uncomfortable as I was (and still am) bearing my soul to someone and sharing my most intimate and difficult struggles with someone who was a complete stranger, I finally felt like I had somewhere it was okay to be who I am - scars and all.  Even if it was just for an hour, it was the most important hour of my week.  Having even just a tiny slice of my day where I didn't have to constantly have my guard up was a godsend.  My time on that couch each week was, for a very long time, what kept me going.  Some days it still is.

I remember one session in particular where I was talking about being ashamed of some of the things I was struggling with.  And it was, and still often is, difficult to talk about some of those things.  I remember my therapist's response - she said "There's no shame here."   Four words.  Just four little words that to most people wouldn't mean much at all.  But to me, they meant everything.  Because for the first time in my life, I actually believed it.  For the first time ever, I didn't feel like I was being judged - even if it was just for an hour here and there.

For the first time ever, I was encouraged to make myself a priority.  She helped me understand that taking care of myself isn't - and never will be - selfish.  It's still a work in progress for sure, but she has helped me take the first steps in learning to put myself first.  Little by little, I'm learning to trust myself again.  I'm learning that it's okay to be whoever the hell I want to be no matter what anyone else might think.  I'm learning that it's okay - extremely important, even - to take time for myself.  She helped me discover the strength within myself to make changes in my life that I had been terrified of making.

For her, it's just another day at the office.  I'm just a client that will come and go like many before me and many after.  It's just what she does.  And for that, I couldn't be more thankful.  Because of her, though I struggle, I'm slowly but surely finding my strength.  Because of her, I know that help is out there.  I wouldn't be here today without that help.  I wouldn't be here today if it hadn't been for that safe place, that place where I didn't have to worry about judgment.  She's had a powerful impact on my life, though she was just doing what she does...and that's a pretty awesome thing.

Sometimes when you least expect it, someone will knock you off balance and make you question everything.  The person you thought would push you down instead extends their hand and helps you lift yourself to your feet.  Sometimes when you least expect it, life leaves you hopeful.